


under your skin feels like home

by zenelly



Category: Free!
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-07
Updated: 2014-09-07
Packaged: 2018-02-16 10:23:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2266179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zenelly/pseuds/zenelly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Haru cocks his head. He does want to swim, he always does, but it's too cold right now anyway and there are things that are more important than him swimming. Like making sure that Makoto is okay, since Makoto has proven that, when left to his own devices, he tries to exert himself which would only make his fever worse. So, in light of that, Haru frowns.</p>
            </blockquote>





	under your skin feels like home

**Author's Note:**

> This is shameless fluff because I am dead and dying over MakoHaru. They are my BOYS. Mostly Haru because of reasons, which is why this fic is even more self-indulgence in Haru's PoV. Thank you all for taking the time to read this, and feel free to look at the [other things I've written here on my tumblr.](http://zenellyraen.tumblr.com/tagged/a-wild-zene-uses-write) ♥
> 
> Title from "You're All I Have" by Snow Patrol

The wind outside is light and flush with the mixture of flowers and sea salt that it always is this time of year, and Haru breathes it in deeply as he steps out of his house. Mindful of the ground that might still be slick with dew, Haru places each foot carefully and solidly as he makes his way down to his meeting place with Makoto.

Haru’s hair is rustled by the wind, something damp and cool. It feels nice, though it reminds Haru that he’s still tired and he’d sort of like to go back to bed. Or go swimming. Swimming with this wind would make being in the water preferable to being out in the air.

Even Makoto couldn’t fault him that.

But it’s still just a bit too cold, Haru knows, and he sighs. A few more days, that’s all he needs to wait, and then the pool will be open for him again. Practice has so far consisted of only strength training and running.

(He can almost smell the chlorine, and it makes his hands itch to be in the water.)

“Haru! Good morning!” Makoto calls, because he’s waiting at the bottom of the stairs, same as always. Haru half-jogs down to him. Makoto offers nothing more than a smile, not waving today because of the cat cradled in his arms.

“Morning,” Haru says quietly, and he reaches out slowly, stroking the cat’s soft, white fur with the back of one finger. She pushes her face into his hand before jumping down from Makoto’s arms with a musical mrowl of sound, bumps her head against Haru’s leg, and then she disappears into the bushes. Haru blinks, cocks his head. She seems to be doing alright. He’s glad he got to pet her today.

Focus.

Haru looks up at Makoto, mouth opening to say-

-something, but he stops, cocks his head to the side.

Makoto isn’t looking at him. His attention seems to be on the spot where the cat disappeared, and the dawn light is falling full across his face, highlighting Mako’s growing tan. But Makoto’s expression is slightly strained instead of the relaxed smile it usually is, something tight around his eyes, and Haruka curls his fingers around the strap of his bag, digging and digging into the crease of the seam in lieu of reaching out. Quietly, he says, “Makoto, are you…?”

“Hm?” Haru watches as Mako visibly drags his focus from that unknown, distant point to Haruka’s face. Makoto smiles gently, the corners of his eyes, glittering green and gold in the sunrise, crinkling as he does. “I’m fine, Haru,” he answers Haru’s unfinished question. “I just have a small headache, that’s all. It should be gone by the time we get to school.”

Haru hums an assent, and that seems to be enough for Makoto.

They turn and head to school, and Haru watches the waves as they walk together, Makoto rambling absently about school as he always does.

(One and a half of Haru’s steps to every one of Makoto’s, and their arms brush twice. Electricity feels like it floods his nerves, resting uneasily half an inch below his skin. It’s not the first time, but still, Haru doesn’t know what to do about it.)

School goes by slowly, as ever. Around midmorning, Haru lets out a quiet sigh as the teacher calls for Makoto to answer this next question, his attention drawn outside. It looks warm out there, and if Haru leans a particular way, he can almost see the pool from his classroom.

Only a few more hours.

“Tachibana.”

He could be swimming right now. The water could be around him, smooth and welcoming and a wondrous balm to his senses, his heartbeat thrumming warm in his veins as he pulls and kicks his way through. Fluid and wonderful. (Haru cups his hands, thinking about the pressure-pull of freestyle, how it’s like sinking into and pushing through something.

How swimming makes sense when so little else does.)

“Tachibana!”

Haru blinks out of his absent haze. That isn’t the first time their teacher has called Makoto’s name, is it? He looks over his shoulder as Makoto clatters out of his seat. “Yes, sorry, sensei!” Makoto says, stuttering slightly as he gathers his materials. Haru cocks his head.

What in the world had Makoto so lost in thought that he didn't respond immediately to the teachers? He was almost always paying attention. Maybe he was distracted? But distracted by what? Haru raises an eyebrow when Makoto’s gaze brushes over him, but Mako only shakes his head slightly in answer to his unspoken question.

Haru will have to ask him later.

Makoto’s face is flushed darkly from embarrassment as he walks up to the board, and Haru, turning back to the world outside the window, thinks nothing of it.

* * *

 

"Mako-chan, are you not hungry?” Nagisa asks when they’re up on the roof, finishing their lunches. “You barely touched any of your food.”

Immediately, Haru swings his attention away from the warmth of the sunlight and the chill of the breeze and brings it to bear on Makoto. Who is quietly packing up his (clearly mostly uneaten) bento, who is smiling slightly, but the expression is somehow ill.

“I’m fine, Nagisa,” Mako says, and Haru’s eyes narrow. “I just. Don’t feel hungry right now. That’s all.”

Which can’t be the case, Haru’s mind fills in. Makoto is almost always hungry, which is understandable given how much exertion swimming is. Plus, Makoto loves lunch. He spends so much time arranging the bentos for Ran and Ren and himself, so they always look great and taste amazing. Haru should know.

Makoto catches Haru staring at him, and he smiles. It doesn’t ease the sudden, tight knot of unease that lodges in Haru’s chest. “Don’t worry, Haru. I’m fine.”

The words are there behind Haru’s teeth. He doesn’t believe Makoto, but he doesn’t know what’s wrong unless Makoto says something to him first, so in the meantime… Haru stays quiet, mouth slanted in a frown that Makoto eyes and smiles at.

“I’ll be alright.”

(So he says, but he stumbles as he stands up. Haru notices that Makoto braces himself against the wall, holds himself there for a moment too long for it to be anything other than gathering strength, and Haru begins to worry.)

After that, Haru starts paying more attention.

Makoto is flushed and withdrawn, uncoordinated in a way he usually isn’t, a fumbling so unlike his typical clumsiness. He doesn’t always answer when the teachers call on him, and when he does answer, it’s clear that he’s having to focus hard on answering the questions solidly and correctly.

It sets off warning bells in Haru’s head.

Something is wrong.

Haru itches to ask about it, concern drawing his brows down as he stares at Makoto, but Mako pays no heed to him. His eyes are glassy and unfocused. Haru traces his features with his gaze, noticing the sallow hue of Mako’s skin, the ever-present flush, the listless wandering of Makoto’s attention, the quiet pain and discomfort that he’s sure Mako is trying to hide.

And Haru makes a decision.

* * *

 

“Gou.”

The redhead perks up at the sound of her name, and Haru motions her over when she turns toward him. Gou half-jogs over to Haru, head tilted to the side. “Haruka-senpai? What’s the matter?”

Haru slants a glance to Makoto, who is filing into the locker room behind an enthusiastic Nagisa, before looking straight at Gou and taking a deep breath. (Nice and easy, Haru, he thinks, Just tell her what you know. It’ll be alright.) Haru says, “I think Makoto is sick.”

Gou blinks. “You think?”

“He won’t… let me ask him if he’s alright. And he’s said that he’s fine, but he’s not acting like he usually does.” Haru lets the “I’m worried about him” fall without being spoken, but it’s there regardless. Gou stays silent, considering, as she looks over to where the door closed behind Makoto, and Haru speaks again. “If he is sick, I’ll take him home. He shouldn’t swim like this.”

Gou, her hair moving fluidly as she turns her attention back to Haru, smiles. “Alright, Haruka-senpai. We have a thermometer in the first aid kit, so I’ll just catch him before he gets undressed. Wait here?”

He nods, and she’s off before he even finishes the motion. Inhaling deeply, Haru can just catch the scent of water and chlorine on the wind, and he closes his eyes. The sun is warm against his skin, and the world is a perfect mixture of that warmth and the smell filling his nose, and for a long moment, Haru lets himself be anchored there.

The door to the practice room opens up again, and Haru cracks one eye open. He opens both fully when he sees Makoto trailing behind Gou, and Rei and Nagisa following after them, curious. Gou shakes her head, amused and fond.

“You were right, Haruka-senpai. He’s running a fever.”

Well, that’s that, then. Haru sighs, relieved to finally have an answer.

“Haru, tell Gou that I’m feeling well enough to practice,” Makoto - well, Makoto whines at him, and Haru’s eyebrows shoot up and he’s shaking his head before he even realizes it.

“No. You’re coming home with me to rest.”

From where they are behind Makoto and Gou, Rei and Nagisa pause. “With you?” Nagisa asks, curious. “You’re not going to stay, Haru-chan?”

Haru shakes his head after a moment of regret. “If I stay here, he’ll just overexert himself.”

“Will not,” Makoto says, and when Haru looks at him, he almost pouts. Makoto blinks at him in what is probably meant to be an enticing manner and really just ends up making Makoto look dizzy. “We can stay so Haru can swim.”

“No. You’re the one who keeps telling me it’s too cold.”

“But we could stay.”

“No.”

Behind Makoto, Rei tries to hide his smile and Nagisa doesn’t try at all, both of them looking amused and fond at Makoto, and Haru loops an arm under Makoto’s shoulder, pressing gently against the small of his back. Makoto follows his gentle urging with something that might be relief as Haru begins to steer them out of the school.

“I’ll call his parents,” Gou says, and Haru nods shortly, his arm around Makoto’s waist. “I think he just needs some medicine and some rest. We’ll see you tomorrow, Haruka-senpai, Makoto-senpai!”

* * *

 

It’s not a comfortable journey, since Makoto has finally given up the pretense of being healthy, which ends up with Haru attempting to awkwardly support all of Mako’s not-inconsiderable weight all the way home. It makes for slow going, but eventually, Haru and Makoto reach Haru’s house. Makoto leans heavily against him as Haru fumbles the door open.

“Haru, I’m sorry for all of this,” he sighs into the crook of Haru’s neck, and Haru closes his eyes, letting the warmth from Makoto’s breath rush over him.

“It’s nothing more than you would do for me.”

Makoto hums under his breath, but turns the corner, heading habitually up towards Haru’s room with slow steps. Haru helps him up, step by step, until he is able to finally, finally, close his door behind them. With a relieved breath, Haru moves out from under Makoto’s arm, though he keeps one hand splayed on Makoto’s back. Muscles shift under his palm, warm and hard.

Haru presses down just to feel them again. And frowns. Makoto’s shirt is damp with sweat, and that can’t be comfortable. He’s sick, so clearly that means that Makoto needs to be warm and cared for, and that means...

“You should change,” Haru says, looking at Makoto with a critical eye. Makoto shakes his head, though it seems like the motion itself disorients him.

“ _I_ should go home, and _you_ should go back to swim practice,” he insists. “I’m fine, Haru, I swear. I’ll just go home and rest, if it’ll make you feel better, but I don’t need to be fussed over and you don't have to miss practice.”

Haru cocks his head. He does want to swim, he always does, but it’s too cold right now anyway and there are things that are more important than him swimming. Like making sure that Makoto is okay, since Makoto has proven that, when left to his own devices, he tries to exert himself which would only make his fever worse. So, in light of that, Haru frowns. “I’ll make up the exercise later. And you’re not going home. Ran and Ren are there. You shouldn’t get them sick too.”

“But-”

“Makoto.”

Mako subsides with a grimace. He sighs before his hands lift up to start unbuttoning his shirt, and Haru turns away to find him one of the shirts that Makoto has left over here. Or that Haruka has borrowed. The details are unimportant. He finds one, large and soft and warm-smelling, and Haru takes a moment to run his hands over its familiar texture. Then he turns and hands it to Makoto, who takes the shirt with a murmured thanks.

“‘m thirsty,” Makoto murmurs as he pulls the shirt over his head, his words slightly muffled by the fabric.

“Rest,” Haruka orders. “I’ll get you some water.”

Makoto almost starts protesting again, but he raises his hands and sits down on the bed when Haru narrows his eyes pointedly, and it’s obvious that he’s tired and grateful for the chance to rest. When he’s sure that Makoto is finally relaxing a bit, Haru heads downstairs. He rubs his thumbs against his fingers, a nervous circling motion. Honestly, he’s at a bit of a loss as to what to do. Makoto doesn’t get sick very often, and Haru isn’t the best at taking care of other people. Maybe…

His phone is in his hands before he can overthink this. It rings once, twice, before there’s a click and a “Hello?” in his ear.

“Rei.”

“Haruka-senpai? Why are you calling? Is everything okay with Makoto-senpai?”

Haru ducks his head and smiles a little bit at the phone. “Makoto is fine. I just.” He chews on his lip for a second. “I don’t really know what to do. Makoto doesn’t get sick often.”

There’s a warm chuckle in his ear, and Haru can almost hear Rei adjusting his glasses through the phone. “Well, first off, it’s important to try to get his fever down. Simple medicines, like aspirin, should do the trick.”

In the background, Nagisa yells, “Make him soup! It’s a sign of love!”

“Nagisa-kun, I am trying to advise Haruka-senpai and I don’t-”

“Aw, don’t be a bummer, Rei-chan. Listen, give me the phone, Rei-chan, no,” and Haru listens to the sound of a scuffle before Nagisa’s voice returns, louder this time. “Haru-chan, listen, listen. Make him soup! It’s what everyone always does for people who get sick!”

“Alright, Nagisa. Aspirin and soup.”

“That’s right. Nurse Mako-chan back to health, and we’ll see you tomorrow! Bye-bye!”

Nagisa hangs up the phone with a click. Haru puts his phone down, smiling slightly before he squares his shoulders and gets to work. Soup then. Soup isn’t hard, and he’s made it plenty of times before.

Water first, though.

* * *

 

Half an hour later finds Haru trodding quietly back upstairs, bowl of soup firmly held in his hands and two pills tucked into the creases of his palm. He nudges the door open with his foot, closes it with a soft click that rouses Makoto from his half-doze in Haru’s bed. Mako forces himself up into a more upright posture.

“Are you feeling any better?” Haru asks.

Makoto makes a noncommittal noise, but his eyes seem more alert. “A little bit. I think napping helped.”

Haru nods and comes over to the bed. He holds out his hand, closed, and Makoto immediately lifts his own under it to catch the pills that Haru drops. "Take those."

He takes them obediantly with the water Haru brought earlier. After swallowing them, Makoto makes to reach for the soup, but his hands falter halfway as he sniffs the air. Haru watches a smile quirk the corners of Makoto’s mouth. “Haru, is… Did you make me mackerel soup?”

“Nagisa said that I should make soup.” Haru tilts his head slightly, blinks twice. Had he gotten it wrong? He didn’t think he had. Furrowing his brows, Haru takes a moment to think and no, Makoto had brought him soup when he got sick, so clearly, soup was something you were supposed to provide for someone who was sick. But Makoto isn’t taking the bowl from Haru. How could he have messed that up? Haru looks at the bowl between his hands, but says nothing more, unable to bring the words to the fore.

Makoto sighs, a rasping, pitiful thing.

(Haru’s hands clench around the bowl.)

“Soup is fine, Haru-chan,” Mako says gently. “But mackerel soup isn’t, uh. Typical.”

Oh.

Haru’s mouth ticks sideways in a frown. That was probably something he should have considered. He doesn’t really know how to make other kinds of soup, though. Well, no, that wasn’t true, Haru knew several recipes (he feeds himself all the time, after all), but he had auto-piloted to mackerel because he likes it, and Makoto likes it enough to eat it with him, and that meant that Makoto likes it too, right?

In retrospect, Haru thinks to himself, he should have asked Makoto first.

Makoto watches him this whole time with green eyes that are slightly glassy and prone to unfocusing, but when Haru looks back up at him, Mako smiles, a faint upturn and softening of his lips and eyes that has become so familiar to Haru, that still eases the worry stirring in his gut. “Chicken soup,” Makoto supplies. “That’s what I make for you.”

That explains why it never tastes like anything Haruka normally makes. Does he have the ingredients for chicken soup? Haru can’t remember off the top of his head, so he’ll have to go check.

Outwardly, though, Haru only nods, casts his gaze down to show how apologetic he is, with the faint whisper of his bangs brushing the tops of his cheekbones. “Sorry, Makoto.”

Makoto only smiles. “How about you just hand me the soup, I’ll eat it, and next time, you can make me chicken soup, alright? This is fine for now.”

Haru hums an affirmative, the sound of it rumbling in his breastbone. Carefully, he passes the bowl to Makoto, sits down on the side of the bed. Watches as Makoto eats the soup spoonful by spoonful. Makoto suffers through his intense observation with his usual good humor until he finishes and leans back against his pillows with a sigh. He passes the bowl to Haru, who sets it down to the side of his bed.

For a long moment, Haru relishes the silence between them, easy and comfortable as Haru can only be with Makoto. It’s broken only by their quiet breathing, but even that somehow fits into the atmosphere without disturbing it, and Haru can feel the peace in his bones.

Makoto shifts slightly, drawing Haru’s focus to him again. His color is better, and he’s smiling at Haru in the gentle way he always does. The skin at the nape of Haru’s neck pricks, and he drops his gaze to the sheets. Haru watches the scant distance between his hand and Makoto’s, curled slightly on the bedspread, and wonders if he can shrink that distance. He wants to reach out so, so badly and close that gap.

A touch.

Makoto’s hand brushes his, gentle backs of his fingers against Haru’s, and Haru breathes in, out, shaky.

“What do you want to do now, Haru? Since I doubt you’ll let me get up and go home,” Makoto asks, gently teasing.

“Hm.” Makoto’s video games are at his house, and he’s right, Haru isn’t going to let him walk home, so that’s out of the question. He doesn’t have any movies he would like to watch and Makoto would have to go downstairs to watch them, which he isn’t going to allow either. Haru’s gaze flicks around the room, spotting and dismissing potential activities until his eyes light on his bookshelf.

Haru stands and walks over to it, crouching down to trace a finger down the spine of a book. “We could always read?” he offers.

Makoto makes a face. “I don’t think I can focus on the words like this,” he admits in a quiet voice, and Haru looks at his hands, runs them along the spines of his books, the smooth catch of their bindings centering him.

“I can read to you.” Haru throws a glance at Makoto through his bangs. A flush, darker than the one made by the fever, spreads across the bridge of Makoto’s nose, and Haru tracks its progress with interest before meeting Makoto’s eyes again. He thinks that Makoto is wavering, so Haru adds, “I wouldn’t mind.”

Makoto smiles, helplessly fond, pats the bed beside him, and Haru snags one of his favorite books before he slides under the covers with Makoto.

Time passes comfortably from then on, with the quiet sound of Haru’s voice filling the room. Makoto demands that Haru keep the book close enough so Makoto can read along with him and read aloud anytime Haru needs a break, which doesn’t happen. But it makes Makoto feel better, which is the important part.

“You’re worrying so much, Haru,” Makoto sighs, tone aimless as he interrupts Haru’s reading. “I didn’t mean to make you so upset.”

Haru considers this. He drags the inside of his lips over his teeth and shrugs. “Makoto. I worry about you when you’re not sick too. You’re my friend.”

“I am, aren’t I,” and Makoto says it like it’s something to be treasured, like the simple fact of Haruka’s friendship with him is something remarkable, and Haru breathes through the rough stutter of his heart.

Carefully, he closes the book with a quiet snap. Makoto makes a quiet, bereaved noise when Haru stands up, and Haru shakes his head slightly. “Time for you to sleep, Makoto. You need your rest.”

Mako only laughs, two huffs of sound, and when Haru glances back up, he’s snuggling down onto the bed, eyes closed. “It’s alright, Haru. I’m fine, though. I don’t need you to fuss over me or anything like that.”

Haru turns this sentence over in his mind. Need, probably not. Makoto rarely needs Haru for anything. Secretly wants may be another matter entirely. And right now, Makoto isn’t able to look after Haru the way he usually does, so it falls to Haru to take care of Mako instead.

But instead of saying anything like that, Haru only pulls the blankets up around Makoto’s shoulders. “Get some sleep,” he says.

“Haru, I’m fine.”

“Makoto.” Haru drags his teeth along the inside of his lip again, his words sharp and the taste copper. “You need to rest. Go to sleep.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Makoto says, but he’s already drifting, his friendly mockery vague and garbled. Haru sighs, fond, as he begins to move away.

He’s stopped only a moment later by a hand around his wrist.

Haru blinks, and blinks again before his mind’s constant stream of information just. Whites out. Makoto is holding his wrist, his grip too-hot from fever and too-loose from lack of coordination (also from fever), and Haru just smiles softly as he carefully slides his free hand into Makoto’s and gently uncurls his friend’s fingers. He strokes the damp creases of Makoto’s palm before he moves away into the rest of the room.

(Makoto grumbles, but lets him do it this time.)

Pulling the blankets up over Makoto’s shoulders is a moment’s work, and Makoto lets out a pleased sigh and sinks further into Haru’s bed. And with that taken care of, Haru sets about cleaning his room. Everything has its proper place to go.

Haru finishes picking up, looks around, and nods to himself. It’s all done. It’s done, and he wants Makoto to be proud of him, to miss him when he’s not there beside him, and it’s with that thought echoing around in his head that Haru climbs into his bed, lifts a corner of the blanket, and slides under the covers.

Makoto, unconscious, shifts. Haruka finds himself with one of Mako’s arms flung over him, with Mako snuggling close to him, and with that heat and Makoto’s solidness against him, Haru lets himself drift away.

* * *

 

Haru wakes up slowly. His room is lit up by sunlight, but while usually, the sunlight would be glaring in his eyes by this point… Haru blinks. His body floods with a mixture of heat and something close to awareness, because Makoto’s shoulder is blocking the light coming in from the window, Makoto’s arm is across his waist, his head is resting on Makoto’s other shoulder and tucked under Makoto’s chin, his legs twined with Mako’s from the knees down. They’re touching so much; it feels like an extra layer of gravity on Haru’s limbs, all of the static and electricity built up in him just grounded out by the mere touch of Makoto’s skin. Haru breathes in, shakier than he’d like. And then he blinks.

He pulls away, puts the back of his hand against Makoto’s forehead to double check, and yes, while Mako does still feel a little warm, it’s nothing like his fever earlier. The terrible, inexorable heat is gone.

Haru smiles.

Makoto’s fever has finally broken.

Good.

For now, though, Makoto probably still needs to sleep, and his broad chest lifts and falls with every deep breath he takes. His face looks a little ridiculous, smushed into the pillows the way it is, but even the slight part of Makoto’s lips is endearing, and Haru only smiles, trails his hand down Makoto’s face, until his fingers are curled just under Makoto’s jaw.

Haru leans up and-

-pauses, his mouth a hairsbreadth away from Makoto’s. With a moment’s consideration of Makoto’s warmth, close enough to be tangible, Haru turns his face just a bit to the side, tilts up the barest amount. He presses a soft, dry kiss to Mako’s cheek before receding like the tide, letting himself rest back down on Makoto’s shoulder.

Things like that can wait for later.

They have time.

Haru, every sense filled by Makoto in some way, goes back to sleep smiling.

 

 


End file.
